殘忍而美麗的情誼:The Kite Runner 追風箏的人(37)

"Really? You'd do that?"

"真的嗎?你會那樣做?"

He threw me a puzzled look. "Do what?"

他疑惑地看了我一眼:"做什麼?"

"Eat dirt if I told you to,"I said. I knew I was being cruel, like when I'd taunt him if he didn't know some big word. But there was something fascinating--albeit in a sick way--about teasing Hassan. Kind of like when we used to play insect torture. Except now, he was the ant and I was holding the magnifying glass.

"如果我讓你吃泥巴，你會吃嗎?"我說。我知道自己這樣很殘忍，好像以前，我總是拿那些他不懂的字眼來戲弄他，但取笑哈桑有點好玩--雖然是病態的好玩，跟我們折磨昆蟲的遊戲有點相似。不過現在，他是螞蟻，而拿着放大鏡的人是我。

His eyes searched my face for a long time. We sat there, two boys under a sour cherry tree, suddenly looking, really looking, at each other. That's when it happened again: Hassan's face changed. Maybe not "changed", not really, but suddenly I had the feeling I was looking at two faces, the one I knew, the one that was my first memory, and another, a second face, this one lurking just beneath the surface. I'd seen it happen before--it always shook me up a little. It just appeared, this other face, for a fraction of a moment, long enough to leave me with the unsettling feeling that maybe I'd seen it someplace before. Then Hassan blinked and it was just him again. Just Hassan.

他久久看着我的臉。我們坐在那兒，兩個男孩，坐在一棵酸櫻桃樹下，突然間我們看着，真的看着對方。就在那時，哈桑的臉又變了。也許沒有變，不是真的變了，但我瞬間覺得自己看到了兩張臉，一張是我認得的，我從小熟悉的；另外一張，第二張，就隱藏在表層之下。我曾經看到過他的臉色變化--總是嚇我一跳，它每次出現不過驚鴻一瞥，但足以讓我疑惑不安，覺得自己也許曾在什麼地方見到過。隨後，哈桑眨眨眼，他又是他了，只是哈桑了。

"If you asked, I would,"he finally said, looking right at me. I dropped my eyes. To this day, I find it hard to gaze directly at people like Hassan, people who mean every word they say.

"如果你要求，我會的。"他終於說，眼睛直看着我。我垂下眼光，時至今日，我發現自己很難直視像哈桑這樣的人，這種說出的每個字都當真的人。

"But I wonder,"he added. "Would you ever ask me to do such a thing, Amir agha?" And, just like that, he had thrown at me his own little test. If I was going to toy with him and challenge his loyalty, then he'd toy with me, test my integrity.

"不過我懷疑，"他補充說，"你是否會讓我這麼做。你會嗎，阿米爾少爺?"就這樣，輪到他考驗我了。如果我繼續戲弄他，考驗他的忠誠，那麼他會戲弄我，考驗我的正直。

I wished I hadn't started this conversation. I forced a smile. "Don't be stupid, Hassan. You know I wouldn't."

要是我沒有開始這場對話就好了!我勉強露出一個笑臉，"別傻了，哈桑，你知道我不會的。"

Hassan returned the smile. Except his didn't look forced. "I know," he said. And that's the thing about people who mean everything they say. They think everyone else does too.

哈桑報我以微笑，不過他並非強顏歡笑。"我知道。"他說。這就是那些一諾千金的人的作風，以爲別人也和他們一樣。

"Here it comes," Hassan said, pointing to the sky. He rose to his feet and walked a few paces to his left. I looked up, saw the kite plummeting toward us. I heard footfalls, shouts, an approaching melee of kite runners. But they were wasting their time. Because Hassan stood with his arms wide open, smiling, waiting for the kite. And may God--if He exists, that is--strike me blind if the kite didn't just drop into his outstretched arms.

"風箏來了。"哈桑說，指向天空，他站起身來，朝左邊走了幾步。我擡頭，望見風箏正朝我們一頭紮下來。我聽見腳步聲，叫喊聲，一羣追風箏的人正鬧哄哄向這邊跑來。但他們只是白費時間。因爲哈桑臉帶微笑，張開雙手，站在那兒等着風箏。除非真主--如果他存在的話--弄瞎了我的眼，不然風箏一定會落進他張開的臂彎裏。

IN THE WINTER OF 1975, I saw Hassan run a kite for the last time.

1975年冬天，我最後一次看到哈桑追風箏。